


A Cheap Motel

by disillusionist9



Series: Choose Dare [56]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Muggle/Wizard Relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disillusionist9/pseuds/disillusionist9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #57 of 100 | When Hermione is the last Muggleborn in the British Isles she must leave before she's captured</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cheap Motel

Red neon filtered through the cracked blinds near the bed. The thin bedspread, already a gaudy pattern, went from mustard yellow to burnt orange in the low light. Even with the shaded backdrop, the perpetually smoky air, and the two sixteen am darkness outside, Hermione could see quite clearly what was about to happen.

She chose the room well: at the end of the balcony, with the door on the furthest side, so anyone coming to the door couldn't sneak from a windowless side. The third floor of the motel would give any ground assailant a difficult time gaining advantage before she sniped them out. And the room was nearly always free, when she needed it, after the murder rumors perforated the folklore of the local community.

A shadow passed by the window an instant before a key card slipped in and out of the door.

"Hermione," whispered from the crack in the door, the chain stopping them from moving further. Both of them knew Lee could knock the chain from the door with sheer force, or charm it out by magic, but he did neither, allowing the chill air to seep into the room along with more of the bloody light.

Her eyes watched the progression of a large snowflake from the top of the door fall to the floor, melting almost completely upon contact with the dingy brown carpet, before moving from her fetal position above the covers. Shuffling to the door, she unlocked it once he'd closed it again.

Lee moved much more swiftly than the lethargic Hermione. Patient, and gentle, but his urgency was apparent in the movement of his eyes to the door, the window, her face, repeat. Hands, gloved in leather and cotton, fluttered near her exposed arms, her skin even darker in the half-light. Never touching. His eyes drank in enough for ten hands across her body.

Full pouted lips parted as his gaze dragged across them before looking to the exits again. His throat caught painfully. There was still dried blood on her arm from two nights before.

"They're in Sydney, it's finished." Each syllable he spoke punctuated the air like a needle through cloth; intrusive and violent.

She didn't speak, only nodded, no longer staring at him. He doubted she'd slept in days. The room was nearly untouched.

"Are you..." Lee cleared his throat, his muster fading instantly when she whipped around to face him, her hair an arc of glorious curls, sending a wave of cocoa butter over him, a warm contrast to the biting cold clinging to his own clothes. The edges of his mouth turned up into a smile, moving harder than a rusty faucet handle, resisting the natural instinct to joke in a bad situation. "Are you staying here in this festering pile, or am I taking you to Headquarters?"

"No one can know you were here. No one can know you helped me."

If his words perforated violently, hers melodically slipped down his collar and ran icy fingers down his spine.

He understood.

It hurt, but he understood. Confined spaces, desperation, a difficult task...that's all he'd been.

An impulse took over him as the smile slipped away, and both gloves were torn off haphazardly. His hands shook, not from cold but from fear. The jerky movements and the speed of his breath afforded Hermione ages to understand what he wanted, though she didn't move away. She didn't move at all. When Lee grasped her unclothed shoulders for their first skin-to-skin contact since their bare bodies attempted to chase away the knowledge of a world without Harry Potter, with the Weasleys in hiding, and certain death for exposed Muggleborns.

Hermione didn't pull away from his searching kisses but her body didn't melt into his; the once soft caramel of her skin hardened so brittle it was a wonder she didn't break. Her jeans scruffed against his as he held her close, his face nestled under her chin, holding her to him for what was likely the last time. Lee was safe, his blood was pure, and no amount of infatuation could shield the last Order Muggleborn in the British Isles.


End file.
